Living Hell
by redheadfaerie
Summary: When the Voldemort-run Ministry passes a Marriage Law for the purpose of capturing Hermione, her marriage to Rabastan Lestrange is anything but wedded bliss. set in DH. Warnings: non-con, torture
1. Living Hell

This fic was written in 2008 as a response to a Death Eater challenge on Granger Enchanted. It was beta'd by Lupinswolfie.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO GET MARRIED? I THOUGHT THEY WANTED MUGGLE-BORNS DEAD, NOT MARRIED TO THEM!" Hermione raged to anyone and everyone who was listening.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley interjected soothingly, gently laying his hand on her shoulder in a show of support, "I'm very sorry, but we couldn't get hold of you to warn you about it; but the law passed, and there's nothing we can do now. Any Muggle-born who isn't petitioned for will be subjected to the Muggle-born Registration Act, which has the possibility of being a worse fate. Those Muggle-borns who become married in accordance with this law, will still have to be registered as such, but since they will have the standing of their pureblood spouses, will not have to suffer the penalties."

"Penalties? For being born?" Hermione screeched before her face fell to a stark white at the thought of being penalized just for being conceived in the first place. She could only imagine what those penalties might be. After taking a deep breath, she looked up at Mr. Weasley's care-worn face. "How is it decided who I marry?" she asked calmly, her more rational side taking over when she felt Ron's arm around her tightening; this was all news to him as well.

"First, any pureblood wizard who wants consideration must petition for you. After the two week period where the Ministry accepts petitions, they then go through them and narrow them down to two, based on a list of specifications that they have to match a Muggle-born to the proper pureblood. They then give the you the option between those two purebloods, assuming more than one person petitioned for you, and you choose which you would prefer to marry. If you don't get back to the Ministry in four days, then the Ministry chooses for you, often by who is willing to give more money."

"So, you're saying that I can be bought?" she asked, her voice becoming more disbelieving with every word. "Please tell me my options are better than what I think they are," she said, trying not to out and out plead with her boyfriend's father.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, his eyes misting over, "but since you weren't here to choose, the Ministry has chosen your husband for you."

Before Hermione could ask anything more, a knock sounded on the front door, and everyone in the room stilled. They weren't expecting visitors. Mrs. Weasley quickly made her way to the door, wiping the tears from her face with her flowered apron.

Rabastan Lestrange strolled into the house without waiting to be asked, the Minister of Magic following in his wake. "I've come to gather my fiancée. We have a pressing appointment at the Ministry," he said, a disgusted sneer on his face as he looked around the Burrow and its occupants.

Hermione recognised him from the photo the Prophet had printed when he had escaped from Azkaban two years previous. Being out of prison certainly seemed to agree with him; he had filled out so he looked healthy, rather than drawn, his shiny dark hair bound with a leather thong and falling halfway down his back. Minister Thicknesse had pardoned each of those who had escaped, citing an old law that hadn't been used in centuries, but had never been struck from the books, having to do with failure to keep the prisoners inside the magical prison.

Ron was immediately on his feet, raring for a fight while shielding Hermione behind him. "NO!" he screamed. "That... that Death Eater can't have her! He'll probably just kill her!"

"I'm not looking for a fight here," Rastaban interrupted, his smile belying his words. "Which is why I brought with me Minister Thicknesse, and the three Aurors who are just outside."

"Ron," Arthur warned, his hand now gripping his son's shoulder, though not so much out of comfort as to keep him from charging the wizard in front of him.

"Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," the Minister acknowledged, "as Mr. Lestrange has stated, we are here to bring Miss Granger with us to the Ministry. We do hope this will go as smoothly as possible, but we have brought Aurors with us to ensure that it does."

Hermione slipped around Ron so that she was between him and Rabastan, her arms folded over her chest. "Just why, exactly, do you need me to go with you to the Ministry?" she asked, the pretentiousness in her voice overshadowing the fear.

"Why, to get married, of course. Surely you are aware of your upcoming nuptials; the owls were sent out weeks ago," Minister Thicknesse said, slightly shocked.

"No. Actually, I've been away for the past few months, though I think you knew that already, since you seemed to know that I was here within an hour of my arrival."

"Yes, well, that aside, it is not our fault that you did not receive the owls we sent. As such, if you do not come with us, you will be in direct violation of an official order, and will be arrested and charged as such."

"And if I choose to come with you but not to marry Mr. Lestrange?" she asked, the knot in the pit of her stomach turning cold and heavy as dread overtook her.

"Then you will be charged with treason and sent to Azkaban, where you will be Kissed." Every person in the room looked horrified at the thought. Every person, that is, except for the man she was being forced to marry.

"Treason?" she squeaked. "How would not marrying him be considered treason?"

"All marriages resulting from the Marriage Act are signed off and officiated by me. Since I am the Minister of Magic, any direct refusal of my orders is considered treason and is treated as such," the Minister explained, sounding as though he were speaking of the weather, and not the fate of people's lives.

"Can I have some time to think it over?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Five minutes. The Floo has been disconnected, and the wards changed so as to not allow Apparation until after we leave. The Aurors will be stationed around the house, so do yourself a favour and don't try and use this time to escape. We will be just outside."

Hermione nodded, looking as though someone had just told her that the world's libraries had simultaneously burned to the ground, and the two men turned and left, Rabastan's black eyes hungrily raking her over first. When they were gone, she turned to her Wizarding family and fell into a heap on the floor, not able to hold the tears in any longer.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley sobbed. "The boys all put their names in, but we don't have the funds to buy off the Minister."

"I know, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said consolingly, "I'm sure even if you did, they would have found a reason to turn them all down."

Ron's arms wrapped around her, his tears falling into her hair as he whispered in her ear. "You can't leave, Hermione," he said, his voice pained. "What will I do without you? What will Harry do without you? You can't go with him, you're supposed to marry me. I was going to save up the money to buy you a ring, and then ask you on our anniversary. I was going to bring you to that little spot in the woods where we had our first kiss. It was going to be perfect. You were going to say 'yes,' and then we were going to live happily ever after."

"Oh, Ron," she cried, her sobs making it hard for her to breathe as she clung to him. "I want that. I don't want to marry him," she said through her hiccups. "But I don't want to be Kissed, either."

"No one wants that, Hermione," Mr. Weasley said, rubbing his son's back. He had known that she was going to be forced to marry Lestrange, but he hadn't known it would happen so soon. He was hoping they would have time to make other arrangements for her; put her into hiding. If he had known that it would happen so quickly, he would have been sure to have the whole family over, not just Hermione and Ron. Harry wasn't even there, instead he was with Remus and Tonks, spending some time with his godson.

When Rabastan and Minister Thicknesse came back inside, it was to find Hermione and Ron kneeling on the floor in a bittersweet embrace, their tears mixing as their lips melded together.

"It is always hard for those of the lower class," Rabastan remarked as he looked at the scene in obvious disdain, "to see those they think as theirs quickly become someone else's. It must become rather daunting when it happens time and time again."

"Please, Ron," she whispered to him, her forehead caressing his, "just find and destroy the rest of the Horcruxes. Help Harry as much as you can; Voldemort must be destroyed. Don't do anything to encourage trouble; winning this war is more important." She gently kissed his lips once more before she stood up and walked over so she was standing in front of the Minister. "Have you made your decision?" he asked.

"Yes, I have," she responded, her voice hollow, as though all of her feelings had been sapped out of her. "I will come to the Ministry. I haven't decided yet if I will marry him, though."

"Good, good," the Minister said jauntily. "You are allowed one person to come and stand with you at the ceremony. I would strongly advise against the boy you were just kissing."

"Mr. Weasley?" she asked, never turning around.

"Of course, Hermione. I'll be here whenever you need, for whatever you need," her second father said, knowing that it was probably the last time he would see her.

"Thank you."

Hermione walked through the Ministry like a zombie, her body going through the motions, but completely devoid of her mind. She wished that they had ignored the owl that had found them. But the letter had said that it was of the most vital importance she come home, and it had taken a full month for the owl to find them, so they had decided to go home for a day or two and find out what had happened. Now that she knew, she wanted to go back; back to the tents, back to the running and hiding. It didn't really matter where, so long as it was away from the personal hell her life had just become.

Minister Thicknesse led the way, followed by Rabastan, whose hand was ensconced around hers, leading her to their destination. Behind them was Mr. Weasley, as well as the Aurors who had been to the Burrow. Each looked rather upset that they hadn't had to break up a scuffle or arrest anyone.

They entered a small office that could only be described as comfy. "Have you made your decision, Miss Granger?" the Minister asked, turning to Hermione and ignoring the lone person who had been in the room before them.

"I-"

Before she could answer, Rabastan interrupted. "Let me have a few minutes with her before she tells us her decision. After all, the idea of marrying someone you haven't even met must be rather daunting."

The Minister nodded his head, turning to leave the room. He was joined in the corridor by Mr. Weasley and the Aurors, as well as Rudolphus Lestrange, who was acting as witness on behalf of his brother.

As soon as the door closed, Rabastan took her free hand in his, and sat on the edge of the large desk while he pulled her closer to him, though not close enough for their bodies to touch. "What can I do to convince you to choose me over the Dementor's Kiss?" he asked imploringly.

She was suspicious of his motivation for being so nice to her, but if there was a suitable alternative to the Kiss, she would see what he would agree to. "I don't want to be killed. I don't want to be tortured. I don't want to be put on display for your master and his cronies. I want to be allowed to talk to my friends. I want you to pretend this never happened and let me go back to the Burrow with Mr. Weasley. I want this to all be a bad dream," she responded, so quietly that he had to strain to hear, her eyes never wavering from where they were focused unseeingly at their joined hands.

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about most of those. I promise, though, that if you marry me, I will treat you accordingly. I will never cause you harm, unless you want me to, or I am forced to. I won't let anyone else, save the Dark Lord or those he deems fit, hurt you should he think it necessary. I will not kill you. You will be comfortable and well-fed. You will have access to my family's private library; I have heard that it may be of interest to you. I'm sorry that I cannot offer more."

"My friends?" she asked, sniffling as she finally looked up at him through wet lashes.

"I cannot promise you anything on that account, but if you ever are allowed to write them, understand that the entirety of your correspondence will be read through."

"Will you take the Unbreakable Vow that you won't hurt me?"

"So long as it includes the stipulations I have already mentioned, though I may reword it to be more specific," he answered after hesitating briefly.

"Then, I will marry you," she said, her tone worn out, her head down and shoulders slumped forward.

"You've made the right choice," he told her as he stood up to let the others back in the room.

"I want you to make the Vow before we get married," she said, just loud enough to travel across the room to where he had his hand on the doorknob. He paused for a moment and looked back at her. She had gathered her strength and was standing up straight, her head held high. If she was going to have to do this, she was going to keep her dignity with her.

He gave no sign of agreeing with her, but when he came back into the room, he had only his brother and Mr. Weasley with him. "Miss Granger-"

"Hermione." At his confused look, she rolled her eyes and explained. "If we're going to be married, you may want to call me by my first name."

"Hermione... has agreed to marry me, but first, I have agreed to make an Unbreakable Vow with her," Rabastan said calmly as he wrote the conditions of the Vow on a sheet of parchment. Arthur physically jumped in his shock that the Death Eater would willingly take any Vow with Hermione. His master must believe that she held some sort of key in defeating Harry. The Order had thought as much, assuming that acquiring Hermione had been their main purpose in the creation of the law.

Rodolphus's eyes widened so slightly that if one didn't know what to look for, they wouldn't have noticed. He took his brother by the arm and pulled him aside. "Are you mad? Why would you agree to the Vow with her?" he asked harshly. "You know what is planned for her!"

"You worry yourself for no reason, brother. I am vowing nothing that I hadn't already intended following through with. This Vow will make no difference in Our Lord's plans, and it is the only way she will choose to marry me. Believe me when I say that she came into this room intending to receive the Dementor's Kiss."

Rodolphus shook his head, but let his brother go before they rejoined Hermione and Mr. Weasley, who had his arm around her shoulder and was rubbing her back soothingly, speaking under his breath. What they couldn't see was that in his other hand was his wand, and the words he was saying were spells that he was casting on her rather than words of comfort.

Rastaban took the parchment off the table and handed it to Hermione. "This wording is the only way I can agree to the Vow," he informed Hermione, who quickly skimmed over the parchment, her face draining of all colour and the parchment shaking in her hands as she read the last condition.

Mr. Weasley looked on, worried over her reaction. He was about to jump in the middle of the two when she folded the parchment over so he couldn't see it. "I will agree to this wording," she said, meeting Rabastan's eyes. "I hold no illusions that this will be an enjoyable marriage for me, but it is somewhat comforting to know that any torture which befalls me will not be by my husband's hand on his own merit."

"Mr. Weasley," Rabastan said, his voice strained at having to force himself to be polite to such a known enemy, not wanting his bride to change her mind last minute over how he spoke to her witness. "Would you be so kind as to be our Bonder? Unless I am mistaken, Hermione would feel better with it being someone she knows and trusts."

She looked over at him, tempted to thank him. She decided against it, sure that once they left the Ministry she would hate herself for even thinking the words.

"Of course," Mr. Weasley answered. Hermione had said that it would give her comfort, so he assumed that it had to do with her safety and was glad that she had thought of asking him to take a Vow rather than just take his word.

Hermione and Rabastan knelt so they were looking at one another and grasped right hands. Hermione had only ever read of the Vow, as it was usually only used on large matters, most wizards wanting nothing to do with the prospect of dying over a small agreement they had made and gone back on, whether intentionally or not.

Mr. Weasley stepped over so that he was standing over them, and placed the tip of his wand on their joined hands. Hermione took a deep breath and started reading from the parchment, which she had placed at her knees. "Will you, Rabastan, promise to not intentionally harm me, Hermione, physically or mentally, throughout the course of our marriage, unless directly ordered to do so by the Dark Lord," she read, the name feeling like acid on her tongue, "or during the various acts of sexual intercourse?"

This time after reading the last line, instead of turning white from the shock that he intended to bed her, her face went crimson, embarrassed at having to read it aloud in front of her only lover's father. While the promise was short, it encompassed what she had requested of him, and she didn't want to try and add anything else in. If she did, he would probably say no anyway, and his temper would be roused. She didn't know how bad his temper was, and she did not want to find out.

"I will," said Rabastan, before a thin flame burst out of Mr. Weasley's wand, winding its way around their hands, twisting around itself like a metal rope, still red from the bellows.

"So mote it be," Hermione said, indicating that there was no more to the Vow.

"So mote it be," repeated Rabastan and Mr. Weasley. The rope changed in color from its red to a bright yellow and into a blinding white, only to dissipate into the air, leaving no mark of its existence.

Hermione and Rabastan stood back up while Rodolphus opened the door to the corridor, allowing the Minister and the Aurors back into the room.

Everyone settled into their places: Minister Thicknesse in the middle of the room, Mr. Weasley and Rodolphus each to one side of him, Mr. Weasley's face grim as he watched the proceedings, wishing there were any way to stop it and take her as far away from these evil men as possible. Hermione and Rabastan were in front of the Minister, once again clasping hands, right with right and left with left, creating an eternity symbol with their bodies.

"Repeat after me," the Minister said to Rabastan before reciting vows for a basic arranged marriage. "Hermione, I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife. Before these witnesses I take you, with all your faults and strengths, as I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths. I will help you when you need help, and turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life."

Once they both had repeated their vows, he smiled at the couple. "I declare you bonded for life." A white light spread out from the Minister's wand, encompassing the two of them and surrounding them in its warmth before slowly fading away. All that was left was for everyone to sign the marriage certificate, and within five minutes, Hermione was hugging Mr. Weasley good-bye, both hoping to be able to see the other again.

"Now, Wife, it is time to go home."

end note-

traditional-wedding-vows/civil-ceremony-wedding-vows


	2. Consummation

warning for this chapter: while she technically consents, it is basically non-con. if this is an issue, don't read the second half.

Part II Consummation

Mr. Weasley was the first to leave, glancing backward wearily. Almost immediately afterwards, Rodolphus disappeared to go make his report to the Dark Lord.

She stood looking at her husband. With every moment that passed, the reality of her current situation embedded itself deeper into her consciousness. She had just married a Death Eater because she had been too much of a coward to accept the Dementor's Kiss. She was beyond disgusted with herself, even as she feared what was to come.

"Come, we must be getting home," Rabastan said abruptly, pulling her from her thoughts. He held out his hand for her, and took hers solidly in his when she would not meet him halfway. He would not allow for the possibility of her escaping him before they left the Ministry and were in the safety of his house.

As he walked her through the Ministry, stares, and few smirks, followed in their wake. She never attempted to disentangle herself from his grip, aware that any move to run would be futile. When they reached the Atrium, he led her to the small queue at the Apparation point on the far side of the large room.

They moved up to the front of the queue in barely a minute, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her small frame against his larger one for the first time. She trembled in his embrace, tilting her face down so he could not see the emotions on her face, and making him smirk down at her.

They Apparated outside a large, opulent building with many turrets. On one side of the building was a cliff that looked over a large valley, a sliver of water dissecting it through the middle. A cobblestone drive led from the rural road that could barely be seen, curving with the landscape, to where they stood at the bottom of the front steps. On either side of the drive was a high meadow, where wildflowers of all colours swayed in the breeze.

As she looked up at the building, she felt a flicker of recognition. She had once stayed in a hotel with very similar architecture. "We aren't in England anymore, are we?" she asked quietly.

"You didn't think that your Order was the only one recruiting forces from other countries, did you?" he responded with a grin.

They entered the house, walking through several rooms that were exactly what one would expect from the outside; she had never seen a home quite so posh. He gave her a quick tour, being sure to point out the dining room, the salon, and the library on their way to their bedroom.

The room was monochromatic, right down to the wall hangings and the black and white moving pictures. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if the décor was a reflection on his personality, or if he just hadn't wanted to put in the effort to choose a colour scheme.

Rabastan walked to one side of the room, where a large, black wardrobe was standing. He opened it and turned to her. "These are your clothes. You should have no problem fitting into them; when it was decided that I was to marry you, they were made from your most recent measurements at Madame Malkin's.

"I have some paperwork to attend to, but I will be back in an hour or so to collect you for supper. Be sure to be wearing one of these robes. The bathroom is through that door, I'm sure you would like a bath. There are oils to help soothe your mind and any aches your body may feel. If you need help with anything, call for Tinka. Her English isn't the best, she does better with French, but she is the only female house-elf here."

He turned and left the room, barely glancing at Hermione. Once he was gone, she idly walked through the room, looking at his things. His robes were immaculate and made of fine materials. All were in dark colours, but there were less black ones than she had expected.

Leaving his clothes, she picked up a picture that sat on his bureau. It was of Rabastan and his brother as children, all smiles and laughs as they flew around the grounds of this very chateau on their brooms; Rodolphus showing Rabastan how to keep his broom level. The next photo was from Hogwarts, and she didn't recognise most of the people in it.

The last photo on the bureau was from Rodolphus' wedding. Rabastan was standing next to his brother, but his face held a certain longing as he glanced over to his sister-in-law. Hermione stood and stared, enraptured at the image. Was her husband in love with Bellatrix Lestrange, or had it merely been a passing phase? The answer did not matter to her on a personal level, but she admitted herself to be curious on the subject.

Taking her mind away from Rabastan's things, she looked through the wardrobe to see what he thought she should wear. Not one piece was Muggle, but that was to be expected.

While he had obviously given her an order to bathe, and she was tempted to ignore it out of spite at the situation, as well as the fact that she didn't care for being ordered around, she hadn't had a proper bath in longer than she could remember, and she would not turn down the chance.

Hermione refused to call upon the house-elf like Rabastan had suggested, and instead fiddled around with the knobs on the tub until the water was just the right temperature. She opted to add a healing oil into the water, which she found clearly labelled in a cabinet, and hoped that it would erase the minor bruises and scrapes that she had incurred in her recent travels.

As she soaked, her thoughts swirled around in a loop. Rabastan had been nice to her at the Ministry, but since they had left and come to his- their- house, he had been rather indifferent to her, treating her as though she was merely a guest, and not one that he cared to have around.

She knew that he had ulterior motives for wanting to marry her, and that those motives had to do with Voldemort. Thinking it over, without all of the pressure that had been on her to make a decision not more than two hours earlier, Hermione was already ready to kick herself.

By now, Harry would have learned of her fate, and she hoped that Ron would be able to keep him in line, as well as keep himself together. They were the world's only hope now, and she didn't want them to lose their focus, though truth be told, she couldn't quite remember what their focus should be. If Mr. Weasley hadn't warned her that the spell he had performed on her at the Ministry would blur her memories of anything having to do with specifics about the war, she would have been panicked. Instead, though, she was only slightly miffed that she couldn't bring the knowledge to the forefront of her brain like she had always been able to do.

She didn't know what was going to be expected of her now that she was Rabastan's wife, but one thing she knew for certain was that she would not become a Death Eater, though she doubted they would have her even if she had wanted to join them. And if that was the case, it was only a slight relief in the thought that they most likely would not ask her to commit the acts of Death Eaters.

She couldn't imagine that she would be considered a trophy wife, unless the trophy was her status with Harry. It certainly wouldn't be her blood they were interested in.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the less things she could think of that she would have a value for. The only things she knew her husband and his comrades would be interested in when it came to her was how much they would have to hurt her, physically and emotionally, to break her, and in turn, break Harry.

Only they did not realise that no matter what they put her through, they would not break Harry, though she could not say the same for herself. It was with complete confidence that Hermione believed that anything they did to her would only fan the fire for Harry, and make him work harder to defeat Voldemort.

By the end of her bath, whether it be a by-product from the potions in the bath or not, while Hermione still felt some fear for herself, she was more sure than ever that Harry would win. Her rational side had gotten the better of her, and for once, was pushing the brighter side of things rather than the bad things that were sure to be in her immediate future.

When Rabastan came to retrieve her, he shrewdly looked her over, pleased with the set of purple robes she had chosen, though not with her untamed mass of hair spilling down her back, or her lack of make-up. He didn't speak to her unless necessary as she followed him to the dining room, where they sat across from one another at a small table.

He watched her intently as she ate, taking in all of her mannerisms. "Tomorrow, you will have lessons on etiquette. As my wife, you will be expected to attend business and social functions with me, both in England and here in France. You will also be taught to speak French. Being English will only work as an excuse for so long before you are expected to communicate in this country's native language. And you will do absolutely nothing to disgrace me; the only reason that you will be accepted, considering your blood status, is the fact of who you are in regards to Potter."

"You mean you aren't going to kill me?" she asked, dumbfounded, having put her fork back onto the table as she gaped at him.

"Close your mouth," he ordered her, and continued when she complied.

"That would be physically impossible for me to do, would it not? But no, the Dark Lord has no plans for your demise. You are far more valuable alive, though you and he have a meeting arranged within the next few days."

All of the colour drained from Hermione's face. She knew that the meeting, which she assumed would end up as a torture session to try and get information from her, would be coming, but she had hoped that it would be put off slightly longer.

She shook her head slightly to dislodge the thoughts of what was to come. "I can already speak French," she said, clinging on to the first thing that came to mind.

Before she could stop herself, and before he could respond to her statement, she said the next thing that came to mind as she thought about his words. "If I'm accepted only because Harry's my friend, then what will happen to all of the other Muggle-borns who were forced to marry due to your law?"

"They, and the purebloods they married, will be killed over the next few weeks. The law had two outcomes… one was getting you away from Potter so we can extract information from you while demoralizing him, and the other was to find out who amongst our ranks are not true servants of our cause," he told her candidly, knowing that she had already assumed much of what he was saying.

"That is absolutely disgusting and immoral," she started, slamming her hands on the table, when he interrupted her.

"It is practical, and it is how we work," he responded calmly, though commandingly. "Every action has a reaction. They all knew what they were getting into when they joined our cause; we do not go in blindly, thinking that we will not be fighting for our beliefs, whether physically, politically, or socially. Traitors are dealt with accordingly and swiftly; entering a marriage that will create more half-bloods, and keep the Muggle-borns in our society, is nothing short of treason. I am spared their fate because I was ordered to marry you; I would have never chosen to marry someone so far beneath my station on my own."

"Well, thank you," Hermione said dryly. "I would have never chosen to marry you, either."

"You should not even be allowed in the magical world," he spat at her. "You have been granted the privilege of marrying into one of the purest lines in the United Kingdom, and I will not have you disparage me or my family, when my ancestors are rolling in their graves with the knowledge that I have been forced to take someone so beneath me as my wife."

Hermione sat staring at him, her mouth set in a thin line. She knew that he believed he was her superior, but she hadn't known that he believed it with such fervour. It was rather unnerving, and in that moment she knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do for his beliefs or his master. Which did not bode too well for her, no matter what he said.

"If you would excuse me, I'm no longer hungry," she said, standing up. There had been other parts of his original statement that she still wanted to pick apart, such as her having to attend functions as well as take etiquette lessons, but she did not think she could stay in her husband's presence for much longer.

"Sit down and finish your dinner. You are not excused. Let this be your first lesson in tradition. Women are not permitted to leave the dinner table without the permission of their father or their husband. Your blood may not be pure, but so long as your are married to me, you will act as though you belong in your current station."

"And if I choose to leave on my own? You have vowed not to cause me harm."

"There is more than one way to punish a person, Wife, and unless you want to find that out first hand, I suggest you sit back down and finish your supper."

She sat back down, her eyes trained on his. The bridled fury behind them was enough for her to do whatever he asked of her right that moment, sending chills up and down her spine. When he pointedly glanced down at her plate, she picked up her fork and brought a piece of broccoli to her mouth. Her favourite vegetable tasted like dirt, but she forced another and another down her throat until he looked content that she was going to finish eating her supper.

"What other traditions must I learn?" she asked, through not only her curiosity, but in hopes that her seeming acceptance would make him less angry.

"You will learn how to act in public and in private, and how to best not to anger me. Your teacher is well aware of everything you need to learn, and you will learn quickly or you will be punished. And, unlike me, my sister-in-law has taken no vow to not harm you."

Her face drained of all colour for the second time that meal. "Your sister-in-law?" she asked. Her voice reflected her trepidation, though she tried to sound casual.

"Yes, I do believe you've had the pleasure of meeting Bella before," he smirked at her. They spent the rest of the supper eating in quiet, each pondering their own thoughts. Hermione was trying not to let the fear of being taught by Bellatrix Lestrange encompass her every thought, but it kept creeping back in until it was her main focus. The woman was beyond frightening, even to those who didn't know of her lethal history.

When they finally finished eating, they retired to the sitting room for a nightcap. When she had informed Rabastan that she didn't drink alcohol, he responded by telling her that by the end of the night, had she not had the proffered alcohol, she would be wishing she had. So she drank, hoping that he wasn't speaking of what she thought he was.

He had been.

After she had finished her second glass of aged Irish whiskey, and he his third, he led her back up to their room. As soon as the door closed behind her, he shed his robe and dropped it into a basket next to the wardrobe. She stood perfectly still, her back against the door, as though she believed that she would have a chance of getting away should she run from the room and what was about to happen.

Rabastan looked up from untying his boots and saw that she was still at the door, her eyes wide as a frightened deer. "Are you a virgin, Hermione?" he asked, suddenly feeling a minute amount of pity for her.

"No," she breathed in response, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Good," he said as he went back to removing his boots. "This is going to happen, so you have to decide how. I don't want to force you, but I will. I would prefer you to be an active participant, but I have a feeling that would be too much to ask for."

She watched him finish undressing, and she couldn't hold back a shudder of fear. He was far more muscular than she had anticipated, his toned body giving him even more of a rough edge as she imagined the things he could do to her, though not in an exciting way. His cock was already at half mast, and she could tell that it was going to be thicker than Ron's, though hopefully not longer; she hadn't been able to take him in fully the first few times they had made love, and she had a feeling that Rabastan would force it rather than give her body time to adjust.

Rabastan disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, coming out with a pink potion in his hand. "Drink this," he ordered, holding the small bottle out to her.

"What is it?" she asked, though she recognised it as a potion she had already been taking for the past year.

"This is a birth control potion that you will take once a week. Not only do I have no intention of fathering any half-bloods, if I did, the Dark Lord would have us both killed in the blink of an eye."

She drank down the potion in one gulp. She didn't want to become pregnant anymore than he wanted that for her- she didn't even want to be involved in the action that would cause the pregnancy, but as he had already told her, it was going to happen either way.

"Now, Wife, what is your decision? Will you make this easy on yourself, or are you going to fight me?"

Hermione decided that if she were going to do this, it would be on her own terms. She looked at the floor as she brought her hand up to her robes and started to unfasten them before letting them drop to the floor. She took his lead and picked them up and placed them in the basket next to the wardrobe.

As she started to undo the clasp of her bra, she glanced up at him, only to quickly look back down. He was fully hard now, and while he was visibly thicker than Ron, he wasn't nearly as long as the man she loved. He was also watching her with his full attention, and that unnerved her more than anything else.

She toed off her heels before letting her knickers slide to the floor. Through sheer will alone, she placed her hands at her sides rather than covering herself. She did not want this man to see her naked, for she was naked rather than nude, stripped not just of her clothing, but of her dignity. She could still fight him, but truth be told, she was too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and the resolve that had been so strong in her mere minutes earlier was already fading.

When he saw that she was not going to move from where she was standing, he strode over and picked her up, walking her over to the bed, where he placed her down in the centre of the black duvet. As a reward for her compliance, he reached to the bedside table and pulled out a small jar. He took a generous amount of the goopy substance into his hand, and spread it over his cock before he rubbed the remnants against her dry pussy and entered her with two fingers to lubricate her inside as well.

He crawled up her surprisingly sensual body, his mouth resting shortly on her pert breasts, until his elbows were braced against the bed on either side of her shoulders. As he entered her harshly, the lubrication doing its job well, he looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed, but they were squinted slightly, and her jaw muscles were tense, as though she was willing herself not to cry.

As he pumped into her, first slowly and picking up pace, grunting with exertion, she kept her eyes closed as she lay as still as possible, trying to imagine that it was Ron above her, that the noises that came out of his mouth were words of affection and love. Ron had always spent their time together cherishing her, making sure that she knew exactly how much he loved her and wanted her. While he wasn't always gentle, and he didn't always make her see stars, he was perfect because of the love they shared.

Suddenly, Rabastan pulled out of her and moved away from her body. She finally opened her eyes to see her husband kneeling between her legs, his staff glistening with the lubrication and a small amount of her own juices. "Lay on your stomach," he ordered her, his voice gruff, husky.

She looked up at him with frightened eyes. "You're not going to… to…" she trailed off, not able to say the words.

"No," he answered, "just turn around." She complied, and as soon as she was laying on her stomach, he placed a pillow under her hips, nudged her thighs open wider with his legs, and re-entered her pussy with the same force he had been using before.

Now, though, she was able to place her arms around her head and bury her face into the pillow as much as possible without hampering her breathing. The tears that had been welling up in her started falling, and her body shook with their force, inadvertently giving Rabastan slightly more friction, and soon he was able to climax.

He pulled out of her, and in an uncharacteristic show of compassion, kissed the crown of her head and smoothed out her unruly hair as she continued to weep into the pillow. He was tempted to say something, but there was nothing he could say that wouldn't cause her to cry even more, so he climbed off the bed and went to the bathroom to clean up.

As soon as he came back, she disappeared to take a shower of her own, where she finally calmed down under the cleansing spray and steam. When the water started to cool down, she put on a robe that was hanging on the door, and made her way back to the bed. He was on the far side, facing away from her in his sleep. She lifted the covers and gingerly laid down as close to the edge and away from him as she could without fear that she would fall to the floor. Despite feeling as though she would never fall asleep through the active haze of her mind, exhaustion soon overtook her, and she feel into a deep slumber.


	3. Torture

Warning…. This chapter is not called Torture for the fun of it. There are some lines towards the end that come directly from DH, and recreation of some of the situations, only slightly altered and paraphrased to fit my plot.

Part III Torture

When Hermione was brought before her husband's master, there were no words to describe how scared she was. Unlike Harry, she had never been in Lord Voldemort's presence, and though she had heard accounts of what to expect from both her friend and her husband, she didn't know what to expect upon meeting the despot.

She had been carefully groomed by the house-elves in preparation for the days' events. Her hair was pulled tightly into a severe bun, and she was clothed in brown cotton robes. When she had protested, commenting that she didn't see how it mattered what she looked like, she was informed that with her hair done up this way and charmed to stay in place, her hair could not become a matted, ratted nest. Her clothes, apparently, were quite absorbent. She was never explicitly told that they were anticipating her to lose large quantities of blood, but the connection was easy to make.

She met Rabastan in the entryway. She was surprised that he was not clothed in his Death Eater garb, and she was grateful for this small mercy. He looked her over and gave her a curt nod of approval before he pulled her to him for Side-Along Apparition.

They arrived in front of a pair of wrought-iron gates that were at the foot of a long drive. Suddenly, the iron started to contort itself out of abstract furls and coils until it had become a face, sinister and frightful looking as it levelled its gaze on the two. They were expected, and so the gates opened up for them, the face going back to its original design. Rabastan sauntered up the drive, holding Hermione's hand to stop any last minute retreats.

She felt closed in as they continued up the drive, the high hedges on either side of them following the curving path. Abruptly the hedges stopped, and Malfoy Manor stood before them in all its glory. Hermione let out a gasp at the sight. The white stone of the structure shone like marble, wide steps leading up to a pair of massive double doors and diamond windows glinted in the fading light. Albino peacocks roamed freely, a fountain running in the distance.

Leaving her no time to gape, Rabastan led her up the steps to the front door, where he stopped to knock on the dark wood. It was opened almost immediately by none other than the lady of the house, Narcissa Malfoy. "Rabastan," she greeted him warmly. "Do come in," she said, completely ignoring Hermione. She was not overcome with joy at the notion of any Mudblood in her home, no matter what the circumstances.

Narcissa led them across a hallway that was lined with portraits, their feet sinking into plush carpeting that covered most of the stone floor. When they continued through a heavy wooden door, the room on the other side was posh and opulent with dark purple walls, a crystal chandelier, and an ornate marble fireplace with a large gilded mirror in an intricately scrolled frame.

Hermione noticed none of this, though, her eyes focusing on the matching antique chairs that were placed in a semi-circle facing the fireplace. All but two chairs were filled, their occupants holding their curiosity in check as they kept their eyes facing the man who was standing in front of the fireplace, his features blurring together so he was but a silhouette against the orange fire.

Narcissa took her seat, her posture slightly tense, her hands clasped together in her lap. Rabastan walked through a break in the chairs and bowed deeply before his master, pulling Hermione with him. She desperately wanted to look up into his face, both out of curiosity and defiance, but her reasoning got the best of her, as it usually did in dire situations, and she continued to watch the ground. She did not want any more of Voldemort's "attention" than was already destined.

Rabastan let go of her when Voldemort bid him to take his seat, leaving her to continue bowing on her own. The Dark Lord circled her slowly, and she tried very hard to stay still, but she could not control the constant trembling of her body. "So very plain," he commented about her, "though you do find that with most Muggles." There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room, and Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes. While she was perfectly content with her looks, it wasn't the first time she had heard this particular insult. Probably not even the hundredth.

When he reached his original location, he stopped and turned back to face the room. He stood there quietly for a moment, a look of concentration on his face. "The link is open," he finally proclaimed. "Wherever he may be, Harry Potter will now be forced to witness tonight's events." Voldemort then looked down to Hermione, a sinister smirk on his lipless mouth.

"Stand up, Mudblood," he ordered her. When she could not comply fast enough for him, he lifted her up with his wand and set her gently down on her feet. "This is your only chance to leave this building unscathed, Mudblood," he said. "Tell us everything of the plans of the Order of the Phoenix, and where it is that you have been for the last couple of months with Potter. Surely, the two of you did not run away together, as some reports imply. Even he keeps his tastes limited to purebloods, if my sources can be relied upon."

"I don't know anything, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you," she answered, her voice full of bravado as she crossed her arms across her chest in a defiant move, not able to keep her stubbornness at bay any longer.

"The fun way it is, then," he responded, and Hermione was more disturbed by the jauntiness in his high-pitched voice than she was by the peals of laughter coming from behind her. She still had yet to see who, exactly, was in the room, but there was no mistaking the maniacal cackle that belonged to Bellatrix. She and that laugh, along with a few Dark hexes, had become rather close during her etiquette lesson two days prior.

"Crucio!" Voldemort said, almost listlessly. Though he was using a minimum amount of energy in the curse, it still far surpassed the searing pain she had endured under Bellatrix, who was extremely accomplished in that particular curse. The woman had cast it upon her when she had dared to inquire the reasons behind some of the pure-blood traditions that Bellatrix obviously felt she shouldn't know in the first place.

The thought of Bellatrix barely flashed through her mind as she fell to the floor, her legs giving out from under her as the feeling of liquid fire swept over her, entering her body and soaking into her muscles. It felt as though she was being burned alive and stabbed with hundreds of poison-tipped blades at the same time. She writhed on the floor and scratched at her skin, trying to force the source of the pain out of her.

When Voldemort took the curse off of her barely a full minute had passed, but to Hermione it felt a hundred times longer. She didn't remember screaming, but she must have, as just swallowing caused a slight irritation to her raw throat.

"Stand up," Voldemort ordered her, and she turned her face away from the softness of the plush carpeting to look at him, still catching her breath. His red eyes seemed to promise that the pain she was in was only just the beginning, and she quickly looked away and pulled herself off the floor.

By the time she was standing back up, she had regulated her breathing, but she avoided looking at him again. Not because she was afraid of him, which she was, but because his snake-like features were just plain creepy.

"How long do you think Potter can stand to see you at my mercy, Mudblood, before he either gives in and turns himself in to me to keep you safe, or until his just and righteous little mind breaks from the horror?"

She didn't answer him, not knowing if the question was rhetorical or not, and he used his wand to force her to look at him. "How long, Mudblood?" he repeated, a harsh edge to his unnaturally high-pitched voice.

"That won't happen," she answered, her voice quiet yet determined. Chuckles came from behind her, and she jumped, having forgotten her audience. Unfortunately, this only caused the chuckling to further.

"He..he," she stammered, suddenly slightly less in control. "He would not allow that to happen. He would find a way to destroy you before he gave you that power over him." Hermione knew that her words would only serve to upset Voldemort, but she hoped that if he really had opened the connection and was forcing Harry to watch, that he would understand what she was trying to tell him, even though she wasn't exactly sure herself what it was. The words she had chosen had felt right, but she couldn't quite place why.

Voldemort chuckled, completely confident in his inability to be killed. "Silly girl. Potter will never be able to destroy me."

"And how many chances have you had to kill him and failed? When he does come after you, I'm sure, he, at least, will follow through." She had no idea where the words came from, and as soon as they had passed her lips, Hermione covered her mouth with her hands in horror. She could not believe what she had just said. Perhaps she really did have a subconscious death wish.

There were hisses from the people sitting in the chairs, but they didn't register as she was once again put under the Cruciatus Curse. This time, the Dark Lord put some effort into the curse. When he took it off not thirty seconds later, she was once again on the floor, writhing in pain. There were scratches all down her arms and on her neck up to her face, many of them having drawn blood.

"Again, where have you been for the last few months with Potter?" he asked, his tone clearly promising more pain. "And remember, I'm through being nice."

"Hiding," she gasped as aftershocks of pain ran through her nervous system.

"Hiding?" Lord Voldemort asked, disbelief in his voice as he idly twirled his wand between his fingers.

"Yes," she lied, no longer gasping, but shaking uncontrollably as she struggled to sit up. "Harry is your number one most wanted, and I'm Muggle-born. Neither of us wanted to be caught."

"That is plausible," he responded lightly. "But it is not everything. Does anyone here believe that is the whole story behind the disappearance of Harry Potter? Perhaps he couldn't handle the hard truths of his precious Dumbledore." He spat out the name of his dead nemesis as though it were something vile.

Voldemort sneered down to her before looking over to their audience. "Do any of my loyal followers believe that the Mudblood is telling the entire truth?"

There was a chorus of no's, as well as a few colourful suggestions as to how their master should deal with the obstinate Mudblood.

"But I am telling you the truth," she begged from her position on her knees, tears freely flowing from her eyes.

"Sectumsempra!" he said, pointing his wand at her. The brown fabric of her robe split open at her stomach, revealing a shallow slice across her abdomen that quickly welled up with blood. Hearty laughs echoed through the room, but Hermione wasn't paying them any mind as her hands pressed up against the wound, hoping to staunch the blood.

"You may have been telling the truth, Mudblood, but next time, tell the whole truth instead of covering for Potter. Unless, of course, you think he's worth dying for while giving away all of his secrets. Now, what can you tell me of the Order of the Phoenix? And leave out no detail, no matter how small."

"They don't tell us anything," she said, her voice pleading. "I swear they don't. They go into the kitchen and put charms on the door so we can't hear anything. Or, at least they used to before Professor Dumbledore died. Now I don't even know where they have their meetings."

This time when he cast Sectumsempra on her, he didn't bother to say the spell aloud, taking her by surprise as the left sleeve of her robe fell away and a gash appeared along her vein from elbow to wrist. Blood flowed heavily down her arm, dripping onto her lap and pooling in the crease of her legs. She paled quickly, not just from the blood loss, and vaguely heard Narcissa Malfoy charm a plastic sheet under her to protect the carpet.

"Look at me," Voldemort ordered her. Everything was starting to turn hazy, and she couldn't lift her head to face him. Suddenly, her other sleeve fell away, and another gash formed on her right arm. With his wand, he forced her to look up at him, though her eyes could no longer focus. "Ligilimens!"

He searched through her mind for the information he wanted, the only point of interest being that her parents had been shipped off to Australia after their memories had been modified.

"She's telling the truth," he said, upset. "Her memory has been tampered with. Rodolphus, you said that Arthur Weasley came with her to the Ministry. Find out if he is responsible, and if so, we will punish his family accordingly."

Hermione didn't hear any of this as she blacked out, falling to her side, her arms bleeding out onto the plastic. Voldemort gave her a look of loathing before calling a house-elf to close her wounds, leaving the scars and ply her with Blood-Replenishing Potion, before closing the connection to Harry. While he had briefly considered closing the connection before ordering her to be helped, he decided to let the teen know that she would still be alive, and therefore able to have more punishments meted out against her.

When she was finally awake, if not coherent, Voldemort turned to her husband. "Take her home. She may not have given us any information, but she will still be a suitable tool to use against Potter."

***

The months passed slowly for Hermione. Her lessons with Bellatrix continued far longer than necessary, and she was sure it was solely to give the sadistic witch an excuse to practice her curses and hexes.

Two weeks after her meeting with Voldemort, Rabastan came home near dawn clad in his Death Eater garb and reeking of smoke. After disrobing, he climbed into bed and woke her up before ploughing into her docile body, releasing all of his pent-up aggression into her. It was only when he had finished and was on his way to the shower that he spoke to her. The Weasley residence had been levelled, but unfortunately it seemed that no one had been in the house at the time. Hermione spent the duration of his shower in tears of relief and pain. The next day, even after taking a pain potion, her entire body was sore from how thoroughly he had used her.

She attended functions and parties with Rabastan every weekend, and even she had to admit that he had been chosen wisely for his position as a foreign recruiter. But while she could admit that he was good at it, she found it disgusting- not only the amount of people that he was bringing into the Death Eater fold, but also the amount of them came very willingly once she was brought into the equation. Rabastan often used her as an example of his master's power. Not only had the Dark Lord been able to take the brains of Potter's operation away, but they had completely broken her spirit. And if that wasn't enough, Potter hadn't even tried to rescue her. It was assumed that the reason for this was because he was afraid of incurring the Dark Lord's wrath. Or, at least, that was what was assumed for the purposes of recruiting followers.

Hermione let them assume a lot of things. She retreated into her mind as much as possible as she followed her husband's expectations and orders like an automaton. On the inside, she was waiting with bated breath for Harry to make his move. He had to finish something, though she didn't remember what, and then he would strike. She only hoped that he and Ron were working extra hard without her. She knew that they both had the potential to do well in academics and research if she wasn't helping, she just wasn't so sure of their drive to be resourceful in their research.

Sometimes the days and weeks passed quickly, but more than not time rolled by at a painfully slow pace until summer was almost upon them. The days and nights were growing steadily warmer, and Hermione found herself spending much of her time exploring the overgrown grounds around the chateau.

On one of these warm nights, Hermione was laying on the ground, a blanket spread beneath her, staring up at the sky, wondering what her friends were doing right at that moment. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine Harry and Ron, and all of the Weasleys. When she reopened them, her husband was standing above her, looking down at her.

"Hello, Rabastan," she said softly. Being married to him hadn't gotten any better, but it hadn't gotten any worse, either. He didn't spend much time at home, as he was either at work or performing his duties as a Death Eater. He usually came home just before dinner, and was often called away just after dinner, only to return late at night, regale himself with her limp and pliant body, take a shower and go to bed, awakening in the morning to start the routine again.

"Come up to bed," he told her, holding out his hand to help her stand. By now, though, she knew that he wasn't being kind, but rather making sure she was going to follow him peacefully. They were barely halfway to the chateau when Rabastan let out a low hiss, and glanced down to his left arm, where the raised skin of the Dark Mark was undulating with his master's call.

"Go to bed," he ordered her, using his wand to Summon his black robes and silver mask from the house. Hermione continued walking to the house, and she could hear him call after her before he Disapparated to join the Dark Lord. "Don't bother with nightclothes, you won't need them!" She cringed inwardly, but continued on to their shared bedroom. For all she knew, he could be back in less than ten minutes, and she would regret not being where he had told her to be. It had happened before, and she ended up being submitted to the wrath of Bellatrix the next day, who had been missing their sessions, not having had one for almost two weeks.

Hermione fell asleep in their bed, but woke with a start as she heard her husband thundering down the hallway before he threw the door open, his black robes billowing behind him. She sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to cover her breasts as he strode to her wardrobe. He threw the first robe that he could grab at her. "Put this on, we must leave now."

"Now!" he roared at her as she continued to stare at him, dumbstruck and terrified by the fully-dressed Death Eater in front of her. She quickly moved out of the bed and hastily clothed herself, continuously glancing at her husband. When she was fully dressed, he grabbed a hold of her arm and Apparated them away without a word of explanation.

They reappeared in the Shrieking shack, which was teeming with Death Eaters in full regalia. She glanced around wildly, wondering what was going on, beginning to tremble with fear. There was something… off. She could think of no reason for the Dark Lord to be here. The accommodations weren't exactly to the standards of Malfoy Manor.

"Potter is at Hogwarts," Rabastan told her lowly as he held her to him so she couldn't run. "The Dark Lord has given them half an hour to give him up, which obviously hasn't happened yet. They have three minutes left," he said, glancing down at his watch.

He kept his hands firmly on her hips as he walked to the next room with her in front of him, the eyes of masked Death Eaters following them. Moments after knocking on the door, it opened itself, swinging inwards to allow them to pass through. When it closed behind them, she found herself in a room with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, six people in their robes and masks, and Lord Voldemort. His snake, Nagini, was in an enchanted bubble, protecting her from harm, floating in mid-air near her master.

The Dark Lord looked over at the rooms' newest occupants, and a slow smile crossed his lipless mouth, giving Hermione the chills. "My Lord," Lucius Malfoy's voice interrupted the silence, drawing the attention of disturbing, flashing red eyes.

"Lucius, I will not stop my plans to get Potter just because your son hasn't arrived from the school yet," came the harsh answer. Voldemort put his wand to his throat, and his voice reverberated through the walls of the shrieking Shack, though this time, the sound did not make it to the rest of Hogsmeade. "They have not given up Potter; make them pay for protecting him. Anyone who comes across the boy is to bring him to me immediately and unharmed."

A cheer went up through structure, and Hermione could hear the tell-tale pops of Apparition through the thin walls. The masked Death Eaters in front of her disappeared, leaving only her, Rabastan and the two Malfoys in the room with the Dark Lord.

"Rabastan, go join the fight. And make sure that if anyone finds Potter, they bring him here. I want him to watch his Mudblood suffer before he dies."

"Yes, Milord," Rabastan answered, finally letting go of Hermione as he bowed and disappeared. Almost immediately, Hermione was bound and silenced, and set on the floor, leaning against a wall, unable to move.

Time went by slowly, with nothing to do but watch the two Malfoys converse in hushed whispers on one side of the room while Lord Voldemort paced the other. Hermione almost thought that he looked… distraught… as he walked around, muttering to himself. Snape kept coming in and out of the room, and eventually left with Narcissa. As soon as the two were gone, Lucius approached the Dark Lord to ask to be allowed to find Potter himself, only to be sent out to find Snape, who couldn't have gone all too far.

It was almost twenty minutes later when Snape sauntered into the room. Glancing over to Hermione, the two left this room for another, almost as though they wanted privacy, though she wasn't sure why, as she had been privy to sensitive information before. She had the feeling that it was simply because they weren't planning on her being around much longer after what they saw as the eminent downfall of Harry Potter.

She was now left alone, sitting against the wall with nothing to occupy her mind but her own thoughts. With the force of Death Eaters that she had seen upon arriving at the Shrieking Shack, and those she hadn't seen, she had no idea how the teachers would be able to hold them off and keep them from taking over the school. Faces of friends and students kept passing through her mind, and she could only hope that they all came out alive. Unscathed was too much to ask for.

It seemed like she was going to drown in her thoughts, when the high-pitched voice of Lord Voldemort could be heard in the air over Hogsmeade, causing her to jump in her restraints. He was calling off his men and women, allowing the school time to regroup. He was also calling Harry out, and from his words she knew that they would be going into the Forbidden Forest.

The Shrieking Shack was once again filled with the sounds of Apparition, and soon the place was once again filled, only this time, many of the occupants were wounded. They quickly did they best they could to staunch their wounds, and overcome their new handicaps.

Rabastan found her on the floor, watching the scene before her with wide eyes. He gave her a grim smile before he lifted her up, and threw her over his shoulder. Almost right away, all of the Death Eaters were called to their master's location, and as one group, they Apparated to him, deep in Aragog's lair in the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione was put down in front of Rabastan, left to lean against him for support in her bindings, his arms keeping her standing. The crowd grew restless as the hour ticked by and Harry did not show. A bonfire was started, and the Dark Lord stood nearby, Bellatrix sitting closely, watching him with the rapt attention of the obsessed.

"I thought he would come," said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. "I expected him to come." The crowd of Death Eaters watched their master intently, all afraid of his retribution at the disappointment. "I was, it seems… mistaken."

"You weren't," Harry's voice said from the shadows. As he stepped out of the shadows and walked towards Voldemort, Hagrid, who had been captured and was in the back of the crowd, started yelling out to him. Hermione did absolutely nothing to bring his attention to her. She didn't want him to be distracted in whatever he planned to do.

All eyes were on Harry and Voldemort, though aside from Hagrid, Hermione's were the only ones filled with love for the scruffy teen. Just seeing him gave Hermione hope, and her eyes filled with tears, happy to see him, even under these circumstances.

As had been happening most of the night, time seemed to stop and play in slow motion as Harry stood there, undefended, as the Dark Lord cast the Killing Curse on her best friend, causing him to crumple to the ground. Hermione's tears turned into silent sobbing as she shook against her husband's chest, who held her closer to him as the Lord Voldemort also fell to the ground.

Death Eaters from all around scrambled to make sure that their master would be alright, and none were faster to his side than Bellatrix. After what seemed like years, he finally stood up, and the Death Eaters quickly moved back to their places on the edge of the clearing. She could feel Rabastan's hands loosen on her slightly as he started breathing, bringing to her attention that he hadn't been.

Narcissa Malfoy was soon sent to be sure that Harry had, in fact, died this time. She verified that Harry Potter, the chosen One, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, was dead. Hermione's sobs started anew as she watched Voldemort desecrate the body of her best friend, casting the Cruciatus Curse upon it.

The march to the castle started, Harry in Hagrid's arms. She was surprised that the half-giant wasn't dropping him, he was crying so hard, and Hermione couldn't help but think back to the stories she had heard of Hagrid delivering Harry to Dumbledore at Privet Drive on Sirius' motorbike, holding baby Harry as close to his heart as he was now in death.

Hermione was once again lifted over Rabastan's shoulder as the group marched through the forest to the castle. Giants were coming along with them, thrashing through the trees, and making a terrible amount of noise. They stopped at the edge of the forest, and once again, Lord Voldemort's voice could be heard in the air, only this time, it was to announce the death of Harry Potter.

People flowed out of Hogwarts castle to see of it was the truth, hoping desperately that it wasn't. Voldemort had expected the death of their saviour to destroy the morale of those fighting him, but it only seemed to fan the flames of their resistance. And then the Longbottom boy killed Nagini, and battle broke out all over again.

Hermione was dropped to the ground as Rabastan joined the fray that was making its way into the building. She sat there struggling in her bindings, unable to make any noise other than the thrashing of her body. Nobody heard her over the din, though, and eventually it seemed that she was all alone on the sprawling lawn, left with the bodies of those who had fallen, some of which were still twitching as they died.

She could hear faint muffles and screams through the broken windows of the school, until all of a sudden, even those faint noises abruptly ended. She felt as though she was going to pass out from exhaustion, her emotions catching up to her as she waited for any sign that the students, teachers, and Order members she had been surprised to see, were overtaking the Death Eaters within the school.

And then the one thing that she hadn't expected to happen, happened. Her bindings fell away. She opened her mouth to scream for joy, and grabbed at her throat when noise came from it. Immediately, she stood up, her legs shaky from being bound for so many hours.

Hermione made her way towards the castle at a far slower pace than she would have preferred, climbing over and around bodies, making a point not to look down, afraid she would recognise some faces. She could only imagine why her bindings had fallen, and she would not believe the only explanation she could come up with until she saw it for herself.

When she finally made her way into the castle, the bodies were just as thick as out. She stood in the doorway to the Great Hall, her eyes brought immediately to the one space that was being given a wide berth. Lord Voldemort's body lay there, waiting for the Aurors to take it away.

Glancing around the room again, she saw the Weasley family huddled together, and Harry on a bench, seated next to Luna.

"HARRY! RON" she called out as she rushed into the room. The two teens heard her over the din, and both turned to her voice. Disbelief on their faces, they ran towards her, dodging survivors as well as bodies, until they had reached her, and she was swept up in the arms of Ron Weasley, who wasted no time in kissing her senseless.


	4. Epilogue

Living Hell- Epilogue

"Mrs. Lestrange-"

"I'm sorry, but I've changed my surname back to Granger. My time as a Lestrange wasn't exactly the happiest time in my life," Hermione said by way of explanation as the snooty, old solicitor gave her a look as though they wondered why any Muggle-born would purposefully give up the surname of one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain.

"Ms. Granger, then. After an exhaustive search into the laws for this situation, we have come to the conclusion that as the last surviving Lestrange, you're to inherit the entirety of the Lestrange estate, which is quite sizeable."

"So I take it they had stipulations of it never falling into the hands of a Muggle-born but you couldn't find a loophole to keep the money in the hands of the Ministry?" Hermione asked shrewdly.

"Something along those lines," the solicitor answered, clearing his throat. "And while you may have inherited it all, I would not recommend that you physically take possession of everything the estate entails, as I know for a fact that there are quite a few Dark artefacts within the estate that would cause harm to someone of your blood status."

"I don't doubt that at all," she said, crossing her legs demurely. "Is there any way for me to obtain help with discerning what I can and can't touch or use, and what I should turn into the Ministry for safety purposes?"

"There are a few people who specialize in those types of things, I will send you a list of their names and how to contact them."

"Thank you, Mr. Fry. Is there anything specific I need to do in order to take over the Lestrange estate?"

"Other than a few signatures, no. We should have everything all straightened out within the hour. Do you have any other questions before we get started?"

"Yes," Hermione said, thoughtfully. "I have recently become engaged. We have no plans to marry anytime soon, but would a new marriage impact this inheritance in any way?"

"No, it would not. Legally, you are the last Lestrange, and once you sign the parchments I have ready, everything will be yours, whether you want it or not."

**

Hermione wasn't particularly fond of the idea that she had just taken over the entirety of the Lestrange estate, but she smiled as she thought it a wonderful form of retribution for the way she and her loved ones had been treated by the family she had been forced to marry into.

She stepped into the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley was busy sputtering around the kitchen preparing dinner. After giving her future mother-in-law a quick hug, she continued onto the sitting room, where Ron, Harry and Ginny were sitting, playing a game of exploding snap while they waited for her to return from her mystery appointment with some solicitor.

"How did it go?" Ron asked after a quick kiss, no longer paying attention to the game.

"Okay," Hermione shrugged. "I just inherited an estate worth almost four million galleons. I'm going to have to have everything gone through to make sure that it is safe, and then I'll have to decide what to do with it all."

She flopped down onto the sofa, only to see three pairs of eyes staring at her, and three mouths gaping at her. "Four million galleons?" Ron yelled, bringing the attention of his mother, and of his father, who had just walked into the house.

Hermione sighed, and explained everything that had happened at the solicitor's office. Harry was the first to react, and it was with a contagious belly laugh; soon everyone in the room was laughing at the prospect of the Muggle-born being the rightful owner of the Lestrange fortune, and how the entire family must be rolling over in their graves.

"So, I guess we can have any wedding we want," she said to Ron, whose grin permeated his face.

Since those months in the forest, camping out, and the months spent away from his family, and away from Hermione, Ron had gained a new outlook on life that mirrored his parents'. He was no longer covetous of fame, learning what it was like to be on the receiving end, nor was he obsessed with money. He had learned that it was the love and support of his family and friends that made him rich, and that while money was nice, it wasn't everything.

Life was finally settling down; both Harry and Ginny had found work in quidditch, though in separate clubs, and Ron had studied with Hermione for their N.E.W.T.'s, coming out with enough that he was quickly accepted into the Auror academy. There was many paths that Hermione had been looking into, but with this new development, she was going to re-adjust that list. No longer needing the money of a steady job, a kernel of an idea for a foundation to support families and children that had been affected by the war percolated in her brain.

The future was looking bright, and Hermione could do nothing but smile and hug her fiancé as she looked over to her friends, imagining what was to come.


End file.
